


Watch me unravel, I've come undone

by mrsyt31



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsyt31/pseuds/mrsyt31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hours later, when Nick pulls the same jumper on after their show, Harry's scent lingers, mixed with his own, and will do, even days later when Harry's gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch me unravel, I've come undone

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Completely made up, fictional, fantasy. Welcome to my brain.  
>  **A/N:** This is a continuation of [Songs of desperation, I played them for you...](http://mrsyt31.livejournal.com/2145.html) told from Nick's point of view. I've taken some liberties again with timeline and other things. BIG LOVE to ladauphineff (aka @ladzfm) for dragging more words out of me when I feel like I have nothing left to give. And also much love to the rest of the gals in the "email chain of epic awesomeness" for keeping me entertained lately :)

They always do this right before Harry has to leave for a few days. They spend every waking minute together, as if they're trying to 'save up' for when they have to be apart.

It's not unusual for Harry to stay at Nick's place, has done quite a bit since he moved out of the flat he shared with Louis, but lately, it's like neither of them can stand to sleep unless they are wrapped around each other. Tonight is no exception. It's Friday, and they have the big Radio 1D takeover event tomorrow, and Harry's been getting progressively more clingy as the week goes on. There are still several days before the boys will head to Paris for promotion, but Nick's not going to complain if Harry is a little more cuddly than usual. Not that Nick would ever complain about Harry being clingy, physically, it’s just not something he’s ever dealt with before. Quickie blowjobs from club boys don’t usually end in all-day-Sunday-post-brunch cuddles.

(He's also not going to complain when Harry ends up naked in his lap, riding him in the antique wingback chair they picked up at an estate sale last month, but that's neither here nor there.)

They wake up in the morning a little later than they had planned. After grabbing a quick shower together, Nick leaves Harry to get dressed while he shuffles off to the kitchen to put a kettle on for tea. When he returns, Harry is pulling Nick's favorite wool jumper on over his rumpled t-shirt.

"That's _my_ jumper, you twat!" Nick's laughs, picking up the shirt Harry had on the night before and throwing it at him playfully.

Harry ducks out of its path and giggles. "What? I'm _cold_. Do you want me to catch my death of chill? Besides, it smells like you." He says, as he rubs the suede elbow pads. They’re soft, and remind Harry of how Nick’s skin feels against his in the morning. At least, that’s what he told Nick the _last_ time he borrowed it.

"You like my smell, do you?" Nick asks, teasing. He secretly loves it when Harry wears his clothes, loves the way they're just that _little bit_ bigger on Harry’s frame than Nick's own.

Harry smiles back at him fondly. "Yeah, reckon I do. And I want my fill of it before I have to leave again."

“Be careful, Styles. Keep making comments like that and you’ll end up on Innuendo Bingo,” Nick quips.

(Hours later, when Nick pulls the same jumper on after their show, Harry's scent lingers, mixed with his own, and will do, even days later when Harry's gone.)

==

Harry leaves on Tuesday. He's been at a photo shoot all day, and Nick thinks he seems a little out of sorts. It's not out of the ordinary, really; these shorter, promotional jaunts are harder for Harry than being away on tour for a month because he never has a chance to find his rhythm in it.

They've spent a couple of nights at Harry's posh new pad so that he could pack for his trip, but he had insisted on coming back to Nick's last night, more at home in Nick's space than his own. ( _I just want to sleep in_ our _bed again before I leave_ , he had said, and how could Nick argue with that?) They share a quiet dinner (in front of the telly so that they can cuddle), and Harry’s near dozing when his phone buzzes with a text alert that his car service has arrived.

They kiss goodbye in the entryway, lingering a little longer when Nick says, _I miss you already,_ and Harry answers, _Two days. You won’t even have_ time _to miss me, you’ll be so busy_. But the thing is, Nick’s never _had_ someone to miss before. He used to tease Alexa about how she would go on and on about Alex being on tour, and wasn’t love supposed to be all rainbows and unicorns and holding hands on fucking _rollercoasters?_. He gets it now, though. Being in love is bloody _heartbreaking_ hard work, and the _longing_ is the worst part.

Later on, while making his bedtime cup of tea, Nick finds a note tucked into the edge of the box of his favorite blend (Harry really does know him _so_ well). Smiling, he unfolds it carefully and reads, _Wish I was having tea with you tonight. Missing you. Love, forever + ever, H xxx_

He's still smiling when he gets to his room, setting the note and his tea cup on the bedside table. He crawls between the sheets and pulls out his phone, scrolling through his twitter feed one last time before sleep. He stumbles across one of the 1D update accounts proclaiming, “The boys arriving in Paris just now!”, and clicks on the link. He laughs when he sees a picture of Harry stepping off the plane wearing Nick’s favorite plaid flannel shirt. He’d worn it himself the previous afternoon when he and Harry had gone to Tesco. He hadn’t even realized Harry had nicked another piece of his clothing, and he wonders what else might be missing from his wardrobe.

He shoots off a quick text, _Nice shirt, pop star. Strong look._

Barely a minute has passed when he gets a text back, saying, _Like I said before, it smells like you. Why are you still awake? Go to sleep. Love you! Xx_

He sends back an _You too xx_ , and flicks off the light. He tosses and turns for a bit (he really does have a hard time sleeping without Harry), and there’s an idea forming in the back of his mind. He drifts off gently tracing the length of each finger on his left hand with his right index finger. It’s the same thing Harry does when they’re both hazy and high from orgasms, just before they fall asleep.

The idea is still with him when he wakes up in the morning, and the first thing he says to Finchy when he arrives at the studio is, “Can we get the number for that tattoo guy I went to last year?” He’s been thinking about getting something new for a while, but he’s not been sure what he should get. Something about the note that Harry left for him to find, well, it’s inspired him. Maybe it’s impulsive, but he feels like he _needs_ to do it. He thinks Harry will understand.

He doesn’t want to share the note with anyone (it’s too personal, and he really doesn’t need the wrong person to see it), so he takes a blank sheet of paper and traces the words he wants to use. If Harry was here, Nick would have him write the words himself, but this will have to suffice. It doesn’t take long, really. The artist is more than happy to work him into his schedule, and the tattoo itself only takes about half an hour to complete. When they’re done, Nick snaps a picture of his left hand, the inside of each fingertip clearly visible in black and white, and posts it on instagram.

All that’s left to do now is wait for Harry to return.

==

Harry’s due home shortly, and Nick's a little nervous, if he's being honest. He knows Harry saw the photo he posted on instagram, because he sent him a text saying, _Nice. Is it for real, or has Finchy taken to drawing on you?_ He responded only with, _Cheeky. What is it that Americans say? I plead the fifth?_ , and neither of them had mentioned it again.

This whole _say it with tattoos_ thing is totally Harry’s game, and Nick’s not sure how he'll feel about the gesture. He’s had tattoos before, but this is different, so different than the others. For one, it's a lot more noticeable, and two, well. There's a real meaning this time around.

His phone vibrates with a text from Harry, _I'm about five minutes from home. You awake?_ , to which Nick responds, _yeah. Just fussing about_. (Nick’s heart still skips a beat when Harry calls his place _‘home’_. He’s got his own house now, but Nick’s place will always be their first.)

He shuffles into the kitchen, pulls down a couple of the glasses that he and Harry bought just last week, and opens a bottle of red, more for something to do than the actual need for a drink. He pours a small amount in each glass and takes his first sip just as he hears the front door open, and Harry calls, “Grimmy, I'm home!”

“Kitchen,” he calls back, swallowing the rest of his wine, then resting the glass on the counter. He’s just about to turn around when he feels warm arms wrap around his waist, feels the damp heat of Harry’s breath as he mumbles into the back of Nick’s shirt. _His pop star is back_

He captures one of Harry’s hands where it rests on his stomach and tangles their fingers together, uses the grip to tug Harry around so that Nick can pull him close and bury his face in the soft curls near Harry’s neck.

And this is what Nick has missed the most. The way Harry feels in his arms, the way they seem to just _fit_ , like two pieces of a puzzle. He’s missed _Harry_ , and Nick wonders idly how he always manages to smell so fresh and clean, even after traveling all day.

“Missed you so much,” he murmurs, kissing the side of Harry’s neck. He lets a hand trail up Harry’s back, his fingers carding through his hair. There’s so much he wants to say, none of it new, really, but still important. He settles on, “How am I going to manage when you’re gone for a month? Two?”

It’s not like they’ve never been apart for long periods of time, Harry was on tour most of last spring and summer, but they’re more serious now. _Settled_ , which is something Nick never thought he wanted until Harry came along. He’d spent years perfecting the art of the ‘one night stand’, his friends teasing him mercilessly about the seemingly endless string of cute young boys filing through their shared flat. But that seems like a lifetime ago.

He doesn’t know how to function without Harry now, and the prospect of not seeing him everyday for an extended period of time has been weighing on Nick heavily. Maybe that’s why he got the tattoo, as one more declaration of just how bloody _serious_ he is about Harry ... about their future.

He forgets, sometimes, just how well Harry knows him, the way he can read the meaning in all the things Nick _doesn't_ say. He shouldn’t at all be surprised when Harry reaches for his left hand, first brushing his thumb over each of Nick’s knobby knuckles, then kissing the tip of each long, slender finger. The move is so tender that Nick almost feels guilty for being so turned on by it, but that’s just the way he is when it comes to Harry.

Harry’s voice is rough when he speaks, both exhaustion and emotion taking their toll. “Is that what this is about?” he asks, examining the words now permanently etched on Nick’s fingers.

“Later,” Nick says, watching where their hands are joined. “Can we just. I just _really_ want to crawl in bed with you right now and stay there for as long as possible. Can we do that?”

Harry kisses him softly, quickly, and says, “Yeah, I’d like that. Never quite sleep properly without your gangly legs knocking me about.”

“Hey now,” Nick protests with a chuckle as he leads them upstairs to the bedroom, Harry practically glued to his back. “Your legs are just as ‘gangly’ as mine, you wanker.”

Harry slides his hands up under Nick’s shirt and whispers in his ear, “But you love it.”

They’ve barely closed the door to the bedroom when Harry’s on him, kissing him hungrily. “Get your kit off,” he commands, peeling his own shirt over his head.

When they’re both stripped down to just their pants, Harry peels back the duvet, gesturing for Nick to crawl between the sheets. He settles himself between Nick’s legs, kissing his way from his breastbone to the crook of his neck, fingers toying gently with the soft hair on Nick’s chest. “Missed you, missed _this … us_ ,” he breathes in his ear. Nick wraps his arms around Harry’s broad back, holding him close as Harry settles in, nuzzling his face in Nick’s neck. “Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t _breathe_ , it felt like. It’s no fun waking up at half five when you’re not there.”

Nick chuckles, "It's no fun when I _am_ there. I thought you wanted a shag?"

"Hmph," Harry mumbles. "Too tired. Just want your skin on mine." Nick can sympathize. It’s only been a couple of days, but he’s been desperate to feel Harry’s warm body wrapped around his again instead of waking to find the other side of his bed cold and empty, lonely without the sound of Harry snoring softly. Nick thinks to himself as Harry toys with his fingers, _This is what I’ve been searching for for so long._

He knows Harry loves him, has the proof of it tattooed on his body for all of eternity, but he hasn’t always understood it. There was a time when he was sure Harry would grow tired of him, of maintaining a long-distance relationship. And Nick _knows_ that being in a relationship with “Harry Styles of One Direction” (the biggest bloody boyband in the world, thank you very much) is the very definition of ‘long-distance’ (When Harry rattled off a list of countries on the tour just a few days before by phone, Nick got a little light headed thinking about distance and time and the emptiness of his bed.) Harry’s young and fit, an international pop star - he could have anyone in the world, and yet, somehow, he’s chosen Nick. And Nick is finally in a place where he can accept that, faithfully, and be thankful that he’s been lucky enough to find his match.

He doesn't realize he's spoken until the words are already out of his mouth. "I wanted a reminder, something to hold on to when you're away from me. Away from home." He meets Harry's gaze, eyelids fluttering when the younger lad reaches up to brush a thumb over the circles under Nick's tired eyes.

"I get it, " Harry murmurs, stretching just a bit so he can kiss Nick on the mouth. "S'sort of the same for me. Reminds me of where I've been, where I'm going, where I belong."

And that's the thing, see. They've been together for months, have said 'i love you' a thousand times (it still makes his heart race like the first time, when Harry showed up at his door just after Valentine’s Day and said, “I’m just so fucking in _love_ with you, Nicholas Grimshaw, and I’m bloody tired of waiting for you to get over yourself!” He’d stood, arms crossed stubbornly, eyes glassy, until Nick was stumbling over his own feet to pull Harry into a kiss and declared, “I love you, too, I’m _sorry_. I’m such a twat.), and Harry still has the ability to take him by surprise.

He’s never belonged to anyone, or felt like someone belonged to him. Not until this beautiful boy came into his life and turned his world upside down. Harry overwhelms Nick in the very best ways possible.

"I know we're not ready to share 'us' with the world," Nick says, trying to maintain his composure. This is normally when he would take the piss, try to lighten the mood, but he can't bring himself to do it. He wants, _needs_ Harry to know he's serious about this. "I just. You said that your tattoos tell our story, and I guess I wanted ... I wanted you to be able to see this,” he holds up his hand proudly, “ ... and know that we're on the same page, always."

Harry shifts up onto his elbows, places a kiss on the tip of Nick's nose, on both of his eyelids, and traces a gentle finger over the freckled skin along Nick's hairline. "Forever," Harry breathes against his mouth, scrambling for Nick's left hand with his right.

Nick meets him halfway, threading their fingers together and raising their hands so they can both see the lettering on Nick's fingertips.

"And ever," Nick whispers, smiling. "But only if you stop stealing my clothes."


End file.
